Heaven
by Boudicca's Revolt
Summary: These are little blurbs about different characters entering heaven. Sirius is the first. Dumbledore is the second. Remus is third. Fred is fourth. REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own no one

Disclaimer: I own no one. JK Rowling holds the copyright.

_"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.__**--Thomas Moore**_

It was not at all as he had expected. St. Peter wasn't at the gate; there was no gate at which St. Peter could be. It wasn't a city of gold. There were no angels with trumpets heralding his entrance. God wasn't waiting with great, powerful arms wide open. It was none of these things but he knew it was heaven none-the-less. There was a peace, a delicious, achingly wonderful peace that surrounded him. The chaos, the shouting and the sparks of countless spells that had utterly surrounded him at the Department of Mysteries had vanished. Most of all though, his worry, his maddening fear at Harry being hurt had also vanished. It wasn't as if he had forgotten or that the danger in which Harry had found himself was any less real. If anything, he was more aware of it than he had been before. No, this was something different, a deepening of his understanding, the ability to see things in their entirety, the whole story laid out in front of him. He knew Harry would be okay.

He looked out before him and saw nothing, no fences, no bars, no shields, as far as his eyes could see. He was free. At last, after fourteen years of imprisonment, he was finally, wonderfully, amazingly free. A low voice startled him. "Sirius . . ." He turned, it couldn't be true.

"James . . . "

A/N: This has been in my head for a while. I don't know how many chapters there will be yet. I guess we'll wait and see Please REVIEW!


	2. Redemtion

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everyone

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everyone. The poem: "When I Shall Sleep" belongs to Emily Bronte.

"_Oh, for the time when I shall sleep  
Without identity,  
And never care how rain may steep,  
Or snow may cover me!  
No promised heaven these wild desires  
Could all, or half, fulful;  
No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,  
Subdue this quenchless will!_

So said I, and still say the same;  
Still, to my death, will say—  
Three gods within this little frame  
Are warring night and day:  
Heaven could not hold them all, and yet  
They all are held in me;  
And must be mine till I forget  
My present entity!

Oh, for the time when in my breast  
Their struggles will be o'er!  
Oh, for the day when I shall rest,  
And never suffer more!"

_-Emily Bronte_

At first he couldn't believe his eyes. He stepped forward with a blind, childlike hope, stumbling at the power of his newly rejuvenated body. There she was-whole, happy. His arms outstretched, he closed the distance between them. In a moment he she was there, her arms encircling his waist, her head resting against his chest. His eyes prickled and a moment later, he felt hot tears coarse down his cheeks. "Ariana, Ariana, Ariana, Ariana," he murmured, the mixture of emotions he was feeling almost becoming too much. He was squeezing her tightly and then he was planting kisses on top of her head, on her cheeks, trying to prolong the time before he woke up and realized it was all a dream.

"Albus, darling Albus," she cried, rubbing his back in slow, rhythmic circles. They stayed like that for what seemed like long, blissful hours and, in honesty, could very well have been. Finally, he drew her back from his, holding her forearms tightly. She was beautiful, young, and so very much alive that he started crying all over again. She no longer had that trace of madness in her eyes; they no longer held the fear they once had. He drew her to him again; he didn't think he was ever going to be able to let her go.

"Oh my dear, how can I even ask for your forgiveness?"

"You needn't ask; all is forgiven. Oh dearest Albus, don't cry; all is forgiven." And he believed her. The weight which he had carried for so long, the barrier between him and every significant relationship in his life from seventeen onward crumbled before him. It was like . . . heaven . . .

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. Fooey on you who didn't. Give me reviews; it's my birthday!


	3. Freedom

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything.

_Nothing irked him more_

_Than asking, "What is there_

_Beyond death?"_

_His theory once was_

_That love greets you,_

-Mark Jarman (from Descriptions of Heaven and Hell)

There it was, his worst fear, looming overhead. It shed its milky glow over the soft, rustling grass. He braced himself for the pain, the aching sting in his bones as they morphed and molded. He closed his eyes, waiting for the tell-tale pinch all over his skin as coarse, gray hair began to sprout. His muscles tensed, waiting, waiting . . . but it never came. He opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the big, white moon. He looked down at his arms; they were the same. He examined his stomach under his shirt; it was the same. He looked at his legs, feet, hands; nothing had changed. He felt a smile creep across his lips. It was over; it was _over_. The monster that had lived inside of him, the monster that had held him back and tortured him was vanquished. He found he couldn't help himself; he let out a loud, ear splitting yelp. He twirled and jumped and skipped and danced under the moon. He raised his face up to its now innocuous light and felt no fear. He felt sixteen again. He felt free.

"Remus . . . " a tentative voice murmured behind him. He turned to see his wife standing before him, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. His grin widened and he bounded forward, catching her up in his now strong arms. He whirled her around under the stars, laughing uproariously. She soon joined in and they shared in their first truly carefree moment and man and wife.

"Where are we?" she asked finally when they had settled on the soft grass, her head resting on his chest.

"Heaven," he answered, the words feeling like honey on his lips. "We're in heaven."

A/N: I am still so sad that JK killed Remus. He was always my favorite so I wanted to give him a little peace  Please review. It was so depressing not seeing any reviews for the last chapter. (and it really was my Birthday so you all can feel ashamed of yourselves)


	4. Sleeping

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns Fred and George. John Donne owns the poem excerpt.

"Therefore, send not to know  
For whom the bell tolls,  
It tolls for thee."

-John Donne

He floated above it all. All of Hogwarts and then all of England, all of the world sat below him. It was not like flying, not at all, for it was more delicious than flying. All of his worries, all of the sadness stayed below in Hogwarts, in England, in the world. Such was the journey that he didn't even notice that George, his double, his other half, was not beside him. He continued to float, not sure if he was moving or stationary.

The high, delicate tolls of a bell split through the silvery curtain that separated him from the earth followed by voices, so faint he could not be totally sure he was hearing them at all. They were speaking about him. Person after person, voice after trembling, tearful voice, spoke about what he _stood for_. They relayed anecdote after anecdote, praise after praise and it was not until he heard another voice, the most familiar voice he knew, that the reality of his death and solitude dawned on him. He had gone where George could not go. For the first time in their short lives, George had been left behind. Just as the sadness began to weigh on his heart, Fred fell into a deep and lovely sleep.

A/N: I know it's been a long time since I've posted but I've moved schools and countries so I've been a bit preoccupied.


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